


PARK THAT BIG MAC TRUCK RIGHT IN THIS LIL GARAGE

by silameninggal



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Has Issues, Anal Fingering, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Anakin Skywalker, Brief Mention of Anal Fisting, Clubbing, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Angst, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Masturbation, One Night Stands, Penis Size, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Size Kink, Soft Ending, Top Obi-Wan Kenobi, Unreliable Narrator, kinda slow burn????, mention of multiple one night stands, no beta we die like men, previous Anakin Skywalker/Padmé Amidala - Freeform, use protection kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:42:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26854663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silameninggal/pseuds/silameninggal
Summary: Anakin Skywalker loves dick, but he loves big dicks even more. Specifically Obi-Wan's. This has now become a problem, but it all works out, eventually.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 22
Kudos: 195
Collections: Obikin Kink Exchange





	PARK THAT BIG MAC TRUCK RIGHT IN THIS LIL GARAGE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gwendolyn (storiesofchaos)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesofchaos/gifts).



> Written for the Obikin Kink Exchange. Thanks to the discord for the endless cheering and listening to me rant about these two idiots in love. Read the tags and heed the tags. Stay thirsty, fam.

He dreams of it, bulging large and thick even through the fabric of his master’s leggings, pressed against the small of his back after he’s been tackled onto the ground, ‘sabres abandoned. He’s jerked himself raw to hazy memories of it, thick and large even when flaccid. He moans at the thought of Obi-Wan half-naked and pale, pulling his robes off after another day on the battlefield; after all, modesty is hard to come by in times of war. 

He’s four fingers deep, but it’s never _never_ enough _._

He wants to gag on it. Choke on it. Swallow it all down. He wants to take it all, let it split him open from the inside. He wants to kneel in the V of his master’s open legs, obscene and filthy, and suck him dry. He wants to be speared apart on his master’s fat cock, wants to be held down and driven into. He wants and wants and _wants_ —so much so that it tears him apart as he strokes himself to fullness in hard bunks or camp beds, coaxes his hole open with the cool, slick fingers of his mechno hand, tries and fails to muffle his half-sighs and whimpers as he pushes his ass against the fingers inside.

He arches desperately, the sensations peaking, reaching that fever-pitch he’s been seeking ever since he watched Obi-Wan clean off in the stream in the half-light of dusk, water droplets glistening against creamy skin, dripping off his fringe, stained blood-red by the water. He speeds up the hand on his cock and gasps, wanting that thick cock to spill in him, leave him debauched and wet and wanton.

With a whimper, he comes, staining the sheets of his bunk, the engines of the Resolute a constant hum as he speeds light-years away from Obi-Wan.

 _I am so fucked_ , he thinks, as exhaustion lulls him to sleep.

* * *

It takes a campaign to go spectacularly wrong for him to see Obi-Wan again. The 501st retreat back into Republic space, the Resolute close to falling apart, troopers defeated and fatigued after one too many losses on the battlefield. Anakin swallows down the bitter shame rising in his throat and does his best not to snap at the council, ignoring the dull throb of his ankle where it had been bent out of shape after a nasty encounter with a battle droid. Their blue figures waver, as the ship’s wild trajectory through hyperspace carries them closer and closer to Coruscant, where the Resolute will dock for repairs.

He is exhausted.

When the transmission ends, finally, Anakin collapses against the durasteel floor, far too tired to hold himself up. His transgressions, failures, have cost his fleet far too much, and he has been recalled back to the temple, where the council undoubtedly will poke and prod at his many _many_ mistakes.

He closes his eyes and _doesn’t_ think about how much he wants to escape from it all, to slink down to the lower levels and let someone, anyone, put their fist up his ass. He wants to feel something that isn’t pain and grief and longing, to feel like his world has been narrowed to nothing but the sensation of being filled, so full with cock that his stomach bulges, that he comes from the sheer ecstasy of being fucked with a big fat cock. He definitely doesn’t think of Obi-Wan’s blue eyes and copper hair and how much he aches with want to feel the slow, burning slide of his cock as he pushes in, hard and unyielding, right on that side of pain that he’s learnt how to enjoy after so many faceless, rough fucks in the back of dark alleys and dingy bars.

Anakin sighs, letting himself feel the cold of the durasteel floor beneath his back, his bones aching as the cold metal digs into them. _I could probably use a shower_ , he thinks. No, _a cold shower,_ he reconsiders, grimacing at the feel of his half-hard cock against his robes.

He reaches down and palms his dick idly, staring at the blank ceiling. The hard floor does nothing for his aching back, and he sighs, pushes off the floor and strips, leaving his robes strewn haphazardly on the floor as he makes his way to the fresher’. He turns on the spray–cold, and stands under it for as long as he can bear, soaping himself up inside and out, shutting off the water when it starts running clear instead of grey and sudsy.

Even after the cold shower, his dick is still rock hard. _Kriff, to the lower levels it is_ , he thinks, while running his fingers through matted curls and sliding into his bunk, flesh hand already curling around his dick. _I could really use a good hard fuck._

When he comes, it’s to the memory of Obi-Wan's pale, thick cock.

* * *

The Resolute docks on Coruscant a week later. By then, he aches with longing, and he has a pretty good idea for what and for who he so desperately yearns for. He _wants_ and it hurts, though it is definitely not the Jedi way to grovel over his irrational, unreasonable crush over his mas—now former master, and he wants this relentless ache in his chest to _just kriffing stop_. Only now, he can no longer run into the arms of his Angel, and beg her to do something, anything, to get him out of his mind. Even then, she had known that he would belong to Obi-Wan only, even when he was so convinced of his love for her, convicted of it—or so he thought.

Padmé had been right.

Now, he creeps towards the gaudy neon lights of Coruscant’s seedy underbelly, clad in a shimmery scrap of a shirt and tight, tight pants, left in the back of his closet, a regrettable purchase from his younger, more rebellious days. The club he’s heading to is grimy, but he’s already familiar with the clientele there, and he’s far too jittery to go scope out a new scene after the thrashing from the council he received this morning. Obi-Wan had looked so _disappointed,_ sitting _like that_ in his chair, an image spat right out of Anakin's wet dreams. The rays of the morning sun had turned his hair fiery gold, and he had watched, the bond shuttered and silent, as Anakin stood hunched over in the council chambers and let their words burn him to ash. Obi-Wan had said nothing, but the glint in his eyes had told him enough.

Anakin’s sick and tired of being censored and sanctioned and condemned, every action nit-picked till there’s nothing left of him but the last scraps of his dignity on his bones, defeated. He just wants it all to go away, even just for a Force-damned moment. Perhaps Padmé _had_ been right about his stubbornness, he thinks. She had always been right, about everything, and he sees it now. Perhaps he should have given in to the council’s whims, after all, he is nothing but a weapon honed to a sharp edge, servicing the Republic with his life, for the greater good, as a Jedi knight; or so they say.

Maybe he should have listened to her more, before everything fell apart. Maybe. He doesn’t know. But he does know that he’s about to get his brains fucked out of his ears when the bouncer lets him through and the Nautolan in the corner catches his eye. He shivers, thrills running down his spine as he lets big hands roam across the planes of his back, grins at the feel of a big, hard cock pressed against his hip as they grind to the throbbing beat of the music, exactly what he came for. He tips his head back and lets him mouth along the line of his neck, hissing as a hand sneaks around to cup his hard-on through his pants. Arousal pulses in his blood as he grinds his ass back onto the Nautolan’s thick cock, desire a heady counterpoint to the remnants of the bitter taste of stim pills. Anakin turns, licks and sucks along a strong jaw, lets fingers trail along his pecs, under the shirt, run through his hair and grab at his ass. Breathes in the smell of Zeltronian liquor and deathstick smoke as he whines, jerking his hips against a meaty thigh.

“Huh,” the Nautolan says, sliding a hand into Anakin’s pants, rubbing against the slit of his cock and stroking his balls. “Baby, I gotta have a name to call out when I fuck that sweet ass of yours,”

“Fuck,” Anakin says, nosing the crook of the Nautolan’s neck. “Call me Set.”

“Name’s Ukta,” the Nautolan says, pulling his hand out of Anakin’s trousers and squeezing his hips, swaying them to the beat of the music. “Wanna take this to my place?” The beat picks up and he palms the curve of Anakin's ass, just below the small of his back.

Anakin licks a stripe up one of Ukta’s green tendrils and hooks his elbows around his shoulders, leaning in for a kiss as he lets Ukta press him against the back wall of the club.

“Nah,” he whispers, “Want you to take me right here.”

Ukta groans, and Anakin is lost in the fog of sensation, barely coherent as thick fingers press into him, anticipating the burn as Ukta’s dick slides into him, heady with the cloud of arousal in the force.

Distantly, he registers the vague impression of a familiar force signature as it prods against his shields. _Anakin?_ It queries, rattling somewhere along with the million other churning thoughts at the back of his skull. He can’t be bothered to pay any attention to it nor the flash of copper hair so wretchedly familiar that he glimpses over Ukta’s broad shoulder. _Not right now_ , he decides, not when he’s got this big fat dick stretching him just this shade of painful that makes his toes curl. He’s half-drunk on ecstasy as Ukta wraps a large hand around his cock, so hard that it hurts, jerking him off to the rhythm of his thrusts.

Anakin keens, hands scrabbling at the wall for purchase, as he comes, nearly blacking out with the blinding force of his orgasm. _Fucking finally,_ he thinks, murkily, vision still swimming, the Force tinted gold with his satisfaction. Ukta comes with a huff, pulling out almost immediately, tucking Anakin back into his pants, smearing cum all over the inside.

“Thanks for the kriff, Set, ”Ukta says, “That tight ass of yours was a real treat.”

Dazed, Anakin leans against the wall and winces at the feel of his ruined trousers. “Yeah, you’re welcome, I guess.” He should probably get going, he thinks, feeling a sudden sense of urgency, the edges of worry creeping into his mind.

He pushes off the wall and tries his best not to stumble all the way back to the temple, still dizzy with the liquor and the pills. His quarters—his and Obi-Wan’s quarters, are dark when he trips into the main living space, the door sliding shut behind him. Even with his Force-sense dulled, he can feel Obi-Wan’s worry, thick and cloying, as he collapses onto the couch, ruined pants and non-existent bond be damned. He’s tired and fucked out and what he wants right now is sleep.

He barely notices when Obi-Wan drapes a blanket over him, sighing.

“Oh, Anakin, what am I to do with you.”

* * *

Anakin awakes, cocooned in a scratchy blanket that vaguely smells of black tea and beard oil—like home and comfort and soft, soft hands, calloused but not hardened yet by war. He watches blearily as the morning rays of Coruscanti sunlight drench the room in shades of gold and amber. He’s sore and aching, filthy and reeking of the remnants of last night’s….activities. He could really use a trip to the fresher’. Really. The couch feels really soft though, and the thought of getting up right now is far too daunting for his post-kriff psyche. The headache definitely isn’t helping, either.

Drowsiness clings to his consciousness as he shifts, fluid-soaked pants sticking uncomfortably to his ass. He’s right on the cusp of sleep when the door to Obi-Wan’s room opens, and a sleep-mussed Obi-Wan steps out, rubbing a hand over his beard and chin.

“Ah, I see that you’re awake”, Obi-Wan muses, “Although I do think that, as a friend, I should be compelled to ask you about last night,”

“Huh?” Anakin slurs, already half-asleep.

“Nevermind,” Obi-Wan says, shifting out of Anakin’s view. “Go back to sleep, dear one, there’s caf on the counter if you want some.”

Anakin finally rolls off the couch sometime long past midday, staggering to the fresher’ and dumping his clothes into the attached recycler. He turns the shower on, hot, and curses his throbbing head while he scrubs down, thoroughly, letting the hot water wash away the sweat and grime, watching glitter swirl into the drain. For a long moment, he lets himself worry about the war, the council, the Chancellor’s increasingly frequent summons, his disappointing inability to follow the code, the gaping distance between him and Obi-Wan; even worse, his apparent _attachment_ to him, about last night, about Obi-Wan and his massive fucking di—

Anakin shuts off the water. He shudders, towelling off and putting on a shirt, realization dawning. He stares at his own expression of horror in the mirror, _Obi-Wan knows,_ he thinks, hands shaking as he frantically dries his hair and ties it into a low ponytail. Obi-Wan had seen him, last night, moaning like a whore as he let himself be fucked stupid on that big fat cock, right there and then in the club.

 _Had Obi-Wan gone to the council about it?_ he thinks, startling. _Would I be expelled from the Order if he_ _had_? He panics, bursts out of the fresher, meaning to escape to the hangar, to hide or to cower, but Obi-Wan’s standing right in the doorway, pristine and perfect in his formal robes, like he’d just gotten back from a council meeting. Anakin shrinks in alarm, pulse racing, _had Obi-Wan told the council about last night? About me? About—_

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan cries, hurriedly stepping forward to wrap him in his arms. “Anakin, what’s wrong?”

Anakin shakes, dread settling cold and deep in his stomach. “Did—did you tell the council?”

“Stars, Anakin, about what?”

“You saw me last night— how? What did you—”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, rubbing soothing circles on Anakin’s back. “The council meeting had nothing to do with you. We were merely discussing the Separatist tactics that were used during their attempted invasion of Osun,”

“Oh.” Anakin whispers, immediately going lax. He had been worrying about nothing at all then. Typical and pointless.

“You don’t need to worry, Anakin, but we do have to talk about last night,” Obi-Wan says, tucking a strand of hair behind Anakin’s ear. “I know it’s not—”

“Kark, can we not?” Anakin whines, burying his face in Obi-Wan’s robes. “That’s just embarrassing.”

Gently, Obi-Wan guides Anakin to his room, settling him on the bed. “I know that you don’t want to talk about it, but I could feel you, through the bond, I felt you in pain and I thought—”

“I like it,” Anakin mumbles, face flaming hot. Force, he can’t believe he’s having this conversation with _Obi-Wan_ of all people right now. “I like the stretch,”

“Uh,” Obi- Wan says, now red and flushed, “I didn’t know you … liked that,”

Anakin stares at him, as they both stew in the awkward silence. _Fuck that_ , he thinks, _I should probably get it all off my chest if there’s no reason to worry._

“Why do you keep the bond blocked?” he blurts out, immediately regretting it when he feels Obi-Wan tense, though none of his emotions leak through his shields.

“I— uh, I might have some, uh,”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, “Do you still not think of us as equals?”

“No! You are a knight, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, fidgeting with the sleeves of his robe. “You are a knight, and am of my equal, and I do truly appreciate your friendship,”

“But why?” Anakin demands, turning to look at him.

“Dear one,” Obi-Wan says, taking Anakin’s hands in his. “I might be more attached to you than what is…seemly for a Jedi Master.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Anakin says, gripping Obi-Wan’s hands tightly as he finally, _finally_ feels the bond slide open. He can’t believe that _this_ is what Obi-Wan feels for him, so much love, so overwhelming but yet so _right_. He shifts, leaning against Obi-Wan’s front, their foreheads pressed together.

“Can I?” Obi-Wan asks, breath ghosting over Anakin’s lips.

“Yes,” Anakin breathes, as Obi-Wan surges up to kiss him, soft and sweet. Anakin groans, and runs his hands through Obi-Wan’s hair, feeling the scrape of his beard as he licks his way past parted lips to taste, to _feel_ Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan cups his hands around Anakin’s jaw, deepening the kiss as Anakin moves to strip off his robe, then his tabards.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, falling back onto the bed, pulling on Obi-Wan’s robe so he follows him down. “I love you,”

“I love you too, Anakin.”

Anakin moans, as Obi-Wan licks a stripe up his jaw and nibbles on the curve of his ear, hands lifting Anakin’s shirt up and over as he runs a hand over Anakin’s pecs, hard from constant fighting. He kisses his way down Anakin’s torso, reverently, thumbing over scars as Anakin squirms on the bedcovers, needing and wanting more. He floods the bond with countless images from his fantasies, of letting Obi-Wan take him, claim him, of moaning around his thick cock as he worked himself down Anakin’s throat.

Obi-Wan groans, working his robe free from where the clasp had been entwined around his waist during his tumble onto the bed. “So eager for me, my dear,” he taunts, reaching to unfasten Anakin’s trousers and shove them down. “So _perfect._ ”

“Always wanted you,” Anakin pants, laid out on his back against the crisp standard-issue sheets, “Wanted to take you, wanted to be good for you and take it all,”

“Kriff,” Obi-Wan hisses, pulling Anakin’s hair out of its ponytail and running his hands through the stubborn curls. “You’ve always been good for me, dear one,” he says, lifting Anakin’s ankles to pull off his trousers.

“Come on, take them off,” Anakin says, pawing at Obi-Wan’s leggings. He slides a thumb between hipbone and waistband, helps Obi-Wan wriggle them off until the leggings are left in a pile on the floor. He sighs, as Obi-Wan moves to kiss him again, licking and biting at his lips, hands caressing his thighs and flank, slotting a knee between his legs. Anakin grabs at his shoulders, fingers leaving marks on pale skin, grinding his cock against a muscular thigh, shuddering at the sensation. He keens, turning to muffle the sound against a pillow, feeling sudden shame at his wantonness.

“Hush now, none of that,” Obi Wan says, smoothing a hand over his calves. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of Anakin’s underwear, sliding them off in one fluid motion, then removing his own. 

Anakin gasps as the cold air hits his exposed skin, trembling at the sight of Obi-Wan’s massive prick. He pushes himself up on his elbows, meeting Obi-Wan halfway for a kiss, groaning at the feel of his cock rubbing against Obi-Wan’s. “Fuck,” he mumbles, as Obi-Wan wraps a hand around his shaft, stroking the sensitive underside, circling the head. “Ah, please—”

“Yes, my dear?” Obi-Wan says, looking at him, eyes piercingly blue.

“Obi-Wan, please—"

“Please what?”

“Please just fuck me,” Anakin huffs, petulant, pouting.

“All things happen in good time,” Obi-Wan says, ducking his head to mouth along Anakin’s collarbone, smearing the divots with his spit. Reluctantly, he moves away, rummaging in his nightstand. 

Anakin whines, disappointed at the loss of contact. “Always so impatient,” Obi-Wan chides, squeezing lube onto his hand. Anakin hisses at the touch of slick fingers to his hole, circling the sensitive rim, coaxing it open. “Please,” he gasps, already breathless with the sensation, jerking his hips at the sensation.

“Shh,” Obi-Wan says, pushing a finger into Anakin’s hole, pressing in deep, rubbing against moist, soft insides, searching. His fingers rubbed against Anakin’s prostate, and Anakin yells, gripping the sheets, nearly orgasming, cock jumping and leaking precome. “Ah, there we are,” Obi-Wan said, slipping in a second finger, then a third, thrusting them in and out of Anakin’s hole as he moaned at the stretch, scissoring and spreading them, coating his hole in slick.

“Fuck— fuck me already,” Anakin breathes, his cock rock-hard, the head red and weeping, fluid pooling on his belly. “Obi-Wan, master— _please,_ ”

Obi-Wan groans, a punched-out sound. He surges forward, fisting his cock, rolling a prophylactic over his shaft. “Are you sure, dear one?” he asks, stroking a thumb along the smooth skin of Anakin’s inner thigh, reaching for a pillow and stuffing it under Anakin’s hips. 

“ _Fuck yeah”_ Anakin hisses. He lets Obi-Wan tilt his hips upwards, framing his hips with his hands. Obi-Wan presses in, ever so slowly, and Anakin whimpers at the stretch, bigger than any cock he’s taken before, the burn of it so intense. He cries out, legs spreading impossibly wider, trying to take more of it, though Obi-Wan’s hands keep his hips immobile. “Kriff, you’re so big,” he says, breathless. Obi-Wan is far bigger than what he’d dreamed of in shameful fantasies, and he trembles as Obi-Wan exhales, re-adjusts his angle, and glides in the rest of the way, until the hilt. He stays there, letting Anakin get used to his girth, panting into the curve of his shoulder.

“Oh Force,” Anakin moans, hole clenching around Obi-Wan’s length. “Oh Force. Oh fuck.”

“Kark,” Obi-Wan says, “You’re so tight around me, taking me so well.” He shifts, the change in angle rubbing his prick against Anakin’s prostate. Anakin jerks, torso lifting off the mattress, hands fisting in the sheets.

“Ah, fuck,” he says, eyes half-lidded with arousal, the bond pulsing with sensation. “Obi-Wan, move.”

Obi-Wan lifts Anakin’s legs over his shoulder, the change in position driving him even deeper into Anakin’s hole. He thrusts, slowly building a rhythm, relentlessly pounding into him, as Anakin sobs, canting his hips to meet his thrusts. Obi-Wan’s length presses against his prostate, unyielding, sparks of pleasure slowly building. He moans, as Obi-Wan leans forward, nearly folding him in half, the press of his cock against his prostate making his toes curl, as Obi-Wan thrusts into him, again and again, seemingly endlessly as he floats between the want pooled low in his belly and his growing orgasm.

“Mmph,” Obi-Wan mumbles, mouth pressed against Anakin’s jaw, still thrusting, hard, reaching down to wrap a hand around Anakin’s cock. Anakin wails, as he pumps the length, digging into the slit. “Let go for me, dear one,” he says, voice strained with arousal. “That’s it, let go.”

Anakin _screams_ , his orgasm slamming into him, nearly blacking out with the force of his own orgasm, his come spilling onto his stomach, so long and hard that it nearly hurts. Distantly, he hears Obi Wan grunt as he reaches his own climax, the lights above flickering with the charge of their orgasms in the Force. He gasps for air, vision whiting out as the bond between them pulses with energy, searing-hot, at his and Obi-Wan’s ecstasy.

Eventually, it passes, and Obi-Wan pulls out, both of them hissing at the feel of it. He rolls off the prophylactic and ties it off, chucking it in the waste-bin and wiping them both down with a wet cloth.

Anakin clings to him with jellied limb when Obi-Wan climbs back into bed, rolling them both away from the wet spot in the middle. “That was incredible,” he murmurs, head tucked into Obi-Wan’s chest.

“Well, I’m flattered,” Obi-Wan snorts, running lithe fingers through Anakin’s hair.

“Do shut up,” Anakin complains, half heartedly swatting at him. He yawns, exhausted.

“Go to sleep, dear one,” Obi-Wan says, fondly, soothingly rubbing his shoulders.

Anakin lets himself drift off, safely wrapped in Obi-Wan’s embrace, for once, sated.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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